


Asphodel Dreams

by crystalusagi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP: EWE, M/M, Post - Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:19:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalusagi/pseuds/crystalusagi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lupin's werewolf is killing him, and Harry needs to find the only potions master who can brew a potion to save him. Harry does not expect Snape to be the potions master; nor does he expect to be made Snape's assistant. But unexpected things do tend to happen to the Boy Who lived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asphodel Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sealcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealcat/gifts).



In his dreams he re-lived scenes of deaths he'd never seen in waking, of Lavender Brown's mauled and broken body, of Fred falling to the ground as the Weasleys' screams echo around him. Of Tonks. Of even Remus being struck, still and lifeless. It didn't matter that somewhere in the back of his mind he  _knew_  that Remus still lived, knew that he was saved by the being he most despised--in Harry's dreams they were all dead or dying as he watched, unable to help.

He woke to something gripping tight on his shoulder, and a wandless spell almost escaped him before he heard Ron's voice and recognized the familiar scent of the shampoo that Mrs. Weasley had packed for him. He opened his eyes and blinked up at Ron's anxious face.

"You doin' all right, mate?"

Harry nodded, still disoriented. It'd been ages since Ron had been there to wake him from a nightmare, and Harry preferred it this way. No need for Ron to know anything about it. 'I dream about your dead brother dying when I sleep' was not really something that came up in any kind of normal--or healthy--conversation. Ron had already done what he could for Harry.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked him when the edgy look didn't leave Ron's eyes. He felt suddenly more alert. "Remus?"

Ron uttered grunt of acknowledgment, already at Harry's dresser pulling something out and tossing it to Harry. The lines of his shoulders were tense and tired. Being an auror captain was useful when one's acquaintances required the level of discretion that Lupin did, but having to answer disturbance calls at all hours of the day and night with a three-month old baby in the house had to be taxing.

Harry scrambled out of the bed and donned the robes Ron had tossed him. It wasn't until they were out of the house and past the anti-apparition wards that Ron looked worriedly over and him and told him in a small voice: "It's bad."

  
* * *

No one was more surprised than Harry Potter when, a week after the Great Battle at Hogwarts, a team of witches and wizards tasked with ridding the Forbidden Forest of a rogue werewolf that had plagued it for days, found a man, body battered and broken, lying almost lifeless against the Whomping Willow. Almost, but not quite lifeless.

Neville Longbottom, who led the party, gasped when they turned the man over and wiped away the grime covering his face. "Professor Lupin!"

The wolf inside him had saved Lupin, the mediwitches decided, though none could know for sure what had lifted the effects of the killing curse. Harry had an odd thought that it may have been the resurrection stone, and wondered if Lupin remembered his brief stint as a ghostly specter.

They soon learned that Lupin's salvation was something of a mixed blessing when not a week after his rescue he transformed suddenly in the hospital ward at St. Mungo's and narrowly missed marking one of the nurses. They realized then that something had changed in Lupin, whose control over his wolf had always been strong.

His control now, the head mediwitch told Harry, was unsteady at best, dwindling down to nonexistence at a moment's notice.

It took nearly three months to nurse Lupin back to health, and another six for the healer who worked with him to become comfortable with releasing him into the world at large. Lupin then became an inhabitant of 12 Grimmauld's Place again. It was unplottable and had strong wards set up, and Harry felt better knowing that Kreacher was there to take Teddy away if Lupin happened to have one of his attacks. Knowing the Kreacher was keeping constant, silent watch over two whom Harry considered his family enabled Harry himself to set up house elsewhere, away from the memories that 12 Grimmauld's Place engendered.

It had been good for a while--good enough that Andromeda felt no qualms about letting Teddy reside permanently with his father, and only took him back with her a couple of days before the full moon. No on suspected that Lupin wasn't completely cured, insofar as he was still subject to the change every month.

It didn't last. Harry began to notice the lines of weariness growing heavier and deeper on Lupin's face, until the man looked 10 years older. At first he assigned it to grief, but as time went by and Harry caught glimpses of Lupin's shaking hands, the beads of sweat at his temples on a few occasions, and his reluctance to handle his own son, a little dread wove itself firmly into his mind.

That dread was realized when Harry, in the middle of a particularly difficult publicity dinner, was interrupted by a pop of apparition, followed by Kreacher carrying a squirming Teddy in his arms. It would have looked comical to see Kreacher carrying the toddler, who was almost fully his size, except that Kreacher's arm was bloody from a huge gash in it and Teddy was crying. The little boy's hair turned red in alarm as Harry reached for him. Remus had changed an entire week before his time, and Kreacher had barely made it out with Teddy alive.

That was two months ago, and it had taken them days to sort out the mess of 12 Grimmauld's Place and make arrangements to have Teddy housed elsewhere. Lupin had only just been released from his second stay at St. Mungo's 5 days ago. Now, as he tagged along with Ron to their apparition spot, Harry's stomach roiled at the damage that Remus might have cause to himself this time. The wolf seemed to get stronger--and more volatile--each time it happened, and Remus after he reverted to himself again always looked ragged.

As they raced toward 12 Grimmauld's Place, Ron informed him of the disturbance call. A Muggle couple living across the street had been awoken by a loud thudding noise, that repeated itself over and over again, followed by a sort of growling. They had phoned in the disturbance, which luckily had been intercepted by the Auror's Department of Muggle Protection. One of the members had alerted Ron of the call.

They could still hear the thudding as they walked up to the warded entrance. It had taken four fully trained wizards to subdue Lupin last time--Harry hoped that experience and the element of surprise would makes things easier this time around. He drew in a long, steadying breath and glanced over at Ron, whose stern face seemed to mirror his feelings. "Here goes nothing."

  
* * *

Harry sank gratefully into Ron's armchair and closed his eyes. In the end they'd had to stun Remus twice to get him to stay immobilized. Even unconscious Remus had retained his werewolf form; they had to levitate him into the locked and steel-barred room he used during the full moon. They stayed and waited for him to change back, but gave it up after a few hours. Remus would be safe enough in his cage until morning, Ron told Harry, and would Harry like to stop by for a drink? As Ron's house was closer than his own, Harry agreed.

Ron set something heavy down onto the table in front of him, and Harry creaked open an eye to see a bottle of firewhiskey glinting temptingly at him.

"Just one drink," Ron said, placing two glasses onto the table and tipping the bottle to dispense way more alcohol than Harry had intended on taking. Still, it had been a trying night, and with the baby taking up most of Ron's free time, they hadn't had a drink like this between then in what seemed like ages.

He drained the glass too soon, and although somewhere in the back of his mind a warning sounded against indulging too much when he undoubtedly had things to take care of in the morning, he didn't refuse the second glass that Ron poured for him. The firewhiskey felt satisfying as it burned down his throat.

Three glasses later saw his vision somewhat blurred--possibly from the fact that some time during the conversation he'd knocked his glasses off his face--and his mind swimming with morbid thoughts that, even in his inebriated state, he didn't care to share with Ron.

"You c'n have th' couch, Harry," Ron slurred at him. "Get yourself sssplinched if y' apparate now." Harry was inclined to agree with this. He stumbled to the couch on the other side of the table, and even before Ron had departed for his bed, fell asleep.

  
* * *

Harry woke with a sore head and a cramp in his neck. He rubbed his eyes and rummaged around for his glasses. He could hear water running in the kitchen; the smell of Hermione's pancakes wafted through the air. His stomach growled.

Ron was already at the table scarfing down his pancakes when Harry ambled in, casting a sheepish look in Hermione's direction. She gave him an exasperated look which was tempered by her smile, and motioned him to the seat next to Ron where a heap of pancakes sat still slightly steaming. Next to the heap stood a vial. Harry picked it up and inspected the lettering inscribed in Hermione's neat hand:  _'Pepper-Up'._  Doubtless Ron had already had his dose, for he looked a little too cheerful for someone who'd had so much firewhiskey the night before. Harry swallowed the potion gratefully.

They finished breakfast in companionable silence, after which Hermione commanded Ron to go see to Lupin and drew Harry into her study.

"Ron's told me about what happened last night," she said to Harry, settling herself into a chair in front of a pile of half-open books. "Harry, he's getting worse."

He stifled a groan of frustration. "I know. I can't think what's changed. We all thought he'd healed, he'd gotten better. But then the thing with Kreacher, and now this...Hermione, he was loud enough that the Muggles heard him through the silencing wards!" He sighed. "I don't know how much longer he can survive this."

Hermione rapped her knuckles against the desk. "I did some research when we first found him, and then again when his condition started to worsen. There have only been four such cases of the human relinquishing full control to the werewolf. The mediwitches thought that was what had happened to Lupin. In all those cases, only one person survived past the two year anniversary of the event. The wolf eventually overran him, and the man was either driven to exhaustion or killed by hunters."

Harry felt a stab of pain at the thought of losing Remus again. "What about the survivor?"

"He was a powerful potions master. He devised a potion, a sort of modified wolfsbane potion, to combat the werewolf. It's said that with time he was able to regain full control of himself even during the full moons."

This was good news. All they needed was a potion! "We could do that, couldn't we? Make a potion for Remus. Oh, Hermione, I could kiss you!" He sprang to his feet. "What ingredients do we need?"

Hermione produced a parchment from the folds of one of the books and handed it to Harry. "They are pretty much the same ingredients that go into a wolfsbane potion, but Harry, neither you or I could brew it. Even a regular wolfsbane potion is difficult to brew, and only a few wizards in the world could claim to brew it to perfection. I'm afraid the only living person who could brew this cure for Professor Lupin is Professor Slughorn."

As much as Harry disliked interacting with Slughorn, he was much relieved to discover that Lupin's cure lay within his grasp. "I'll set out for Hogwarts as soon as I leave. Headmistress McGonagall should know where he is if he's no longer teaching." He reached over and grasped one of her hands in his, squeezing. "Thank you, Hermione."

Hermione smiled, squeezing back. "I care for Lupin too, you know. He was my favorite professor at school."

He chuckled. "He was pretty good, wasn't he?" He cast a quick  _scourgify_  on himself before leaving the kitchen.

"Let me know how it goes, Harry!" Hermione called after him.

"I will!"

  
* * *

Harry gaped disbelievingly at Minerva McGonagall. " _Dead?_  How? When--"

McGonagall sighed. "This past winter. He was much older than he looked, lad. He was also much wearier than we had supposed. There are always ways to stave off old age, with his skills, but I suppose he thought it was time."

Harry slumped forward in his chair. "He was Remus's only hope. Hermione told me that he was the only living wizard skilled enough to brew this potion."

Something flickered in McGonagall's eyes that made Harry take notice. "Unless... Headmistress, do you know of anyone?"

Hogwarts's Headmistress stared at him with a look of great reluctance. "...There is another whom I think may be able to brew Lupin's cure," she admitted. "However he is a solitary man, and an eccentric. I'm afraid I can't say if he will be willing."

Harry leaned forward. "It's a matter of life and death, Professor. Surely if you explain to him--"

"But you see, I've sworn not to contact him or involve him in worldly matters. He has been done with the world for quite some time now." She looked sadly at him. "I'm afraid it's a promise I can't break."

Harry's thoughts raced, seeking for a solution to this stupid problem. If she had made an oath, there was nothing Harry could do that would induce McGonagall to break it--and nothing he  _would_  do, either. But he still had to find a way to save Remus. Finally, he hit upon it. "I'll seek him out myself. Tell him I tricked you into telling me where he lives.  _I'll_  be the one trying to convince him to lend his help."

McGonagall hesitated. "Potter, I don't think he would like that."

Harry had to stop himself from pounding his fist on the desk in front of him. "Professor, Remus is  _going to die_. His son--my godson, is going to be an orphan." He directed pleading eyes at her, knowing that he was stooping low but not caring in the least. "Please. I know how it feels to be an orphan, and I don't want that for him."

The old woman stared at him for a few moments longer, and he could see her relenting a little. Finally, she closed her eyes and sighed. "Very well," she said, "I will tell you where he is. You deserve to know in some ways, in any case." She pulled a scroll out of her drawer and wrote down instructions.

Harry didn't understand her last comment, but he was elated. Finally, there was chance at Remus's recovery. He thanked her warmly and profusely, upon which she fixed him with a look that he couldn't quite decipher and told him not to thank her just yet. He left Hogwarts feeling hopeful, if somewhat confused.

  
* * *

  
Harry looked down at Professor McGonagall's instructions once more. Yes, it was called Spinner's End, all right. The street that he stopped at looked exactly like the streets next and adjacent to it, uniform brick buildings set against a morbid grey sky. Against that dark backdrop Harry could make out a run-down mill in the distance, its chimney sticking out like a sore thumb. Yet somehow the place felt...familiar to him.

The somewhat crude map indicated to a tall two-story house that looked like all the rest. Harry stood in front of the door for a moment, reciting to himself the introduction and subsequent request that he was to make to the mysterious potions master. McGonagall hadn't even given him a name. The headmistress had said this wizard was a solitary man. Casting a look about him at the empty streets and shaded windows, Harry could see that she was right.

All right, he was nervous. Remus needed him to do his best, after all. This was  _important_ , and he wanted to get it right. After a couple minutes of putting off the inevitable, he raised his hand and rang the doorbell.

He waited. Nothing. Maybe no one was home? But then he remembered that the chimney had been slightly smoking when he'd first spotted the house. No, a potions master wasn't someone who would leave a fire unattended. Snape had always railed on about that sort of thing.

He rang the doorbell again. Still nothing.

He considered his options and decided to take a more direct approach. He slipped his wand into his hand, careful to angle his body in such a way that someone looking from the street would not see what he was doing. " _Alohamora,_ " he whispered.

And was almost knocked off his feet by a warding spell so powerful it took all his strength to resist. He stepped back several paces from the door. This was definitely the right house.

Before Harry could decide what to do next, he heard footsteps on the other side of the door. Apparently his spell had been more effective than the doorbell at alerting the inhabitant of his presence. The footsteps stopped at the door, and Harry peered at the little peephole and attempted a friendly, non-threatening smile.

A few moments of silent scrutiny passed, and still the door remained closed. Harry blinked at it, trying not to show his annoyance. "Er...Hello?"

There was a small popping sound, and a card appeared floating in the air in front of him. He grabbed it. Written in a sharp, precise hand, were the words ' **Go away** '. Okay, so this wasn't going to be easy. He had been warned that it wouldn't. In fact, Professor McGonagall had looked positively sorry for him when he left her.

"I'm sorry," he said loudly to the door, feeling like an idiot, "I can't go away. I need your help. A potion, that's all I ask. Please let me in?"

Another card appeared a couple of seconds later. This one simply read ' **No**.'

Of all the rude, disobliging people in the world! Harry closed his eyes and tried to regain his composure--a losing battle. "Look, I really need this potion and I'm not leaving until you see me, so you might as well open that door! Or I swear by Merlin I'll break it down!" Curse it, it was going to make this wizard brew him Remus's cure if he had to tie him up and force him to do it.

Another reply came: ' **Just try it**.'

It was exactly what Harry did. For three hours, with no results. The wards absorbed any spells he threw at them and pushed them back at him. By the end of the third hour he was exhausted and breathing heavily. It was time to give up. "Fine!" he shouted at the door, unmindful of who might hear him, "I can't break your wards. You've won."

By now he was so tired that he sat on the porch in front of the door like a little kid; he felt like crying like one too. He put his face to his knees and leaned down, despairing. "Just... _please_. You can't just stand by and watch a man die. No one is that heartless."

There was a creak as the door opened--Harry hardly had time to react before the words reached him in a deep, familiar drawl. "No one, Mr. Potter? You underestimate me."

  
* * *

 _'I'm dreaming,'_ Harry thought, staring up at Snape from where he sat on Snape's porch. Because even with the glamour, he could see that it was Snape. It  _sounded_  like Snape and felt like him, and-- "Why aren't you dead?"

A derisive curl of thin lips. "Good day to you too, Potter. I can see adulthood has not granted you any manners."

Harry scrambled onto his feet. "No, that's not what I--Bloody hell, Snape, you were  _dead_!"

Snape stared down his prodigious nose at Harry-- _stupid_  ugly git bastard--and folded his arms over his chest. "Evidently not." He smirked, as if he was enjoying Harry's idiocy, which really, Harry thought he probably was.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but the words refused to come. Half of him was angry, the way he had always been angry inside when confronted with Snape, and half of him was grateful for what Snape had done for him, for his mother. A whole other half of him--though this was really too many halves, wasn't it?--was just plain shocked to see him, standing there alive as if nothing was the matter.

Snape's smirk did not go away, damn him. If anything, it seemed to grow wider. "If you're going to stand there like a clodpole you might as well come in, Potter." He turned and walked back into the house without so much as looking back to see if Harry followed him or not. Harry raced over the threshold after him; he almost jumped when the door slammed close behind him.

The long hall led to a sitting room, which looked more like a nest of books than anything else to Harry. The walls were lined all the way to the high ceiling with old books and a pile of books sat on (and underneath) a small table by the sofa. The sunlight from the windows cast a yellow glow on the books and brought out the warmth in the brown leather volumes. It was...cozy. Hermione, he thought, would never want to leave this place.

"Are you done staring?"

Snape had one eyebrow raised at him. The black eyes mocked him.

Harry had to clear his throat before answering. "Erm. Yeah. It's just. I didn't expect you to live in a place...like this."

"This?"

He was not going to call Snape's home cozy. "Um. It's nice."

A sneer from Snape. "Of course I would never in the world live somewhere 'nice,' is that right? Sit down."

Harry sighed and sat down on the sofa at which Snape pointed. "That's not what I meant. Please, can you not take everything I say wrong? After all that's happened--"

A dark look came into Snape's eyes. "Nothing happened, Potter" he said in an implacable tone, "aside from my being bitten by a snake and you killing a vile, twisted wretch of a man. Do not presume to have been through anything more with me than that."

Harry's mouth set in a grim line. Of course Snape wouldn't want to acknowledge what Harry had seen in his memories. To do so would be to acknowledge that he had lost, and worse, that he still loved Harry's mother. It probably made him uncomfortable that Harry knew. "Fine, I won't mention the past." He remembered why he was there in the first place. "There's something I need your help with now. A potion--"

To his surprised, Snape just leaned back against the armchair he was sitting in and asked "What is it?"

Harry reached into his pockets and pulled out the paper Hermione had given him. He handed it over to Snape, who glanced at it, scowled, and tossed it onto the table in front of them. "Werewolf's gotten himself in deeper waters, has he? How far along is he?"

"We don't really know. His transformations come and go. Sometimes they're mild, but mostly they take a toll on him. The mediwitches say he may not survive a dozen more of such attacks."

Snape seemed to consider the situation, his eyes staring at the parchment on the table. "I could help you, Potter, but what would I get out of it?" he said at last.

"You would be adequately compensated," Harry said, having prepared to be asked this question by the mysterious potions master whom he was to meet. He supposed that it being Snape didn't make the negotiations different. Except Snape did have a dislike for Remus.

"Adequately," Snape repeated. "Potter, you must know that I must be the only wizard this side of the world who can brew this potion. What price were you willing to pay, to 'adequately' compensate me?"

Harry named a figure which, he had the satisfaction of noticing, made Snape's eyebrows rise in surprise. "Do you accept?"

Snape brushed an imaginary piece of lint from the sleeve of his pressed white shirt. "Say please, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Please, Snape."

"You really do love him, don't you." This was said quietly, more a statement then a question.

It was a strange question to ask "Of course. He's the closest thing to a father I have aside from Mr. Weasley. The only connection to my father I have left."

"Fair enough. I will do it for the fee you mentioned. You will be my assistant until the potions are completed. Wolfsbane potions, even this particular strain of it, must be made fresh, and there's no telling how many doses Lupin will need before he improves. Let me know now if you are not up to the commitment."

Harry nodded. "I don't care how long it takes. I'll be your assistant, whatever you want, if it means he'll get better,"

Again, Snape raised an eyebrow. "Whatever I want, Potter?"

His eyes stared too deep into Harry's for comfort. Harry found himself blushing without really knowing why. "Yeah."

Snape's eyes snapped away from him. He tapped the table with his wand. A piece of parchment and quill appeared. Harry watched as he penned a long list of items onto the paper. When he was done he handed it to Harry. "You may leave now. Be here tomorrow at noon with the ingredients listed, in the quantities prescribed."

He was already ushering Harry out of the room down the hallway. "Do not be late. And I trust that you will not tell anyone about our meeting. Not even Weasley and Granger."

"Weasley and Weasley, now," Harry said, almost grinning.

"It matters not to me, Potter. Goodbye." Harry stepped out onto the porch and the door closed instantly shut on him.

  
* * *

He apparated to St. Mungo's and made his way to the room where they kept Remus. The auror who guarded the door nodded to him as he passed. Harry managed a smile back.

"Harry, hello." Remus was sitting up in bed with a bowl of porridge in his hand. He was gaunt and there were dark circles framing his bloodshot eyes.

"Remus. I'm glad you're up."

Remus smiled at him. "I didn't get the chance to thank you for what you and Ron did the other day. I'm sorry to have caused you such trouble."

Harry reached over and placed his hand on Remus's arm. "No trouble at all. We're family, remember? And I have some good news that may cheer you up."

He told Remus about the cure that Hermione discovered, and about how he'd found a potions master capable of making the potion. He left out the fact that Snape was said potions master.

At the end of it, he'd expected Remus to be elated. He looked thoughtful instead. "How much is this expert potions master charging for the potions? And please don't lie to me."

Harry told him. "But honestly, Remus, its not important. I have more than enough to pay for the treatment."

Remus shook his head, dismayed. "I can't let you spend that kind of money on me, Harry."

Harry shook his head. "It's not just for you, Remus. Think of it as something I'm doing for my godson. He needs his father with him. I know. Last time I saw him he asked when I could take him to you again."

The mention of his son brought a sad look into Remus's eyes, and Harry was instantly sorry he brought it up. Remus was only having short visits with Teddy now. Remus sighed. "Very well. Please allow me to pay you back when I'm well again."

There was no need for Remus to do that, but Harry didn't bother to argue. He nodded, then left Remus to eat the rest of his dinner.

  
* * *

He dreamed of Snape that night, tears shimmering down his face, growing cold and grey. Somewhere in the distance he could hear Voldemort's mocking laughter. Then Dumbledore's voice telling Snape what had to be done.

The dream shifted; time and space whirled past. He found himself on a street--and in his mind it was familiar, he knew those cobbled stones and that dark grey brick. The world turned, led him along its path, to a park. To a swing set. A red-haired girl perched on top, a thin, long-limbed boy next to her. Lily.

His mind still full of Snape's memories, Harry woke, slowly and without fuss, the dream gently pulling away from him and his consciousness slipping in to take its place.

 _'Maybe,'_  he thought,  _'Maybe I could ask him about her.'_  He didn't dwell on the thought because at this point his eyes found the clock on the wall. It was half past nine. Hell. He hadn't even looked at the list of ingredients Snape handed back to him.

The rest of the morning was spent racing around Muggle London trying his best to procure the ingredients on Snape's list. As it turned out, this wasn't an easy task. To Harry's chagrin, ground dragon's scales and veela's hair were not to be found in any of the usual shops. In a last ditch effort, Harry enlisted the help of George Weasley. Upon hearing that it was for Lupin, George offered Harry a stab at his private stores. With his shopping list complete, Harry hurried to the house on Spinner's End.

He arrived on Snape's doorstep just a few minutes shy of noon. This time Snape opened the door promptly. He leveled a sardonic eye at the various packages Harry carried in his arms and ushered him in.

"Haven't you heard of a shrinking spell, Potter?" he asked as he led Harry down a stairway in the corner of his his sitting room that Harry wasn't sure had been there before.

Harry felt his ears grow a little warm. "It didn't occur to me." Looking down at his laden arms, he wished it had. Snape didn't seem inclined to slow down for him; once they cleared the rather slippery stairs the older man continued his quick pace through the narrow, winding corridor.

As suddenly as he'd started walking, Snape suddenly stopped. They were at he entrance of a room that was clearly Snape's workroom. The walls, much like Snape's sitting room, were lined with shelves, though these were filled to the ceiling not with books, but with bottles and vials in a multitude of colors. A great fireplace took up most of the wall directly opposite of them, on either side of which were stacked no less than a dozen cauldrons of various sizes. In the center of it all was a great granite table. A wicked-looking set of knives--for cutting up ingredients, Harry guessed--along with various other potion-making tools were laid on a swathe of cloth on the table. Harry had to admit that he was impressed by this set-up.

"Satisfied, Potter?" Snape's voice alerted him to the fact that he'd been staring.

"Yes, quite," he said without thinking. He winced inwardly, expecting to be berated by Snape for the perceived impertinence, but Snape just sort of grunted. His face looked less severe for a moment, as if he was pleased.

"Place the items there," Snape pointed to the table, "You may transfigure a chair for yourself using one of the empty vials." He turned to a shelf and began levitating bottles onto the table.

Harry chose a dark green bottle from the shelf and aimed his wand at it, muttering the transfiguration incantation and thinking  _chair_  very intently. He bottle popped out of his hand and expanded in the air, growing legs and an arch back. When it was done, a dark green chair stood in front of Harry.

By the time Harry was finished, Snape had already unwrapped all the packages that Harry had brought with him. Now, as Harry turned back to him, he pointed at a cluster of valerian where he had also placed a mortar and pestle. "Cut off the roots and grind them to a fine paste," he instructed "When you are done you can slice the bloodroot over there."

Harry nodded and got to work.

  
Harry soon discovered that Snape had meant it when he said he needed an assistant. That first day Snape worked Harry for five hours straight, having him cut up and grind various ingredients. They worked in silence, Snape swishing back and forth behind Harry in those great black robes of his, occasionally stopping by Harry to utter some criticism on his skill with the knife.0

He stopped Harry just when his hands were starting to go numb from all the chopping. "That's enough, Potter." Harry ceased chopping gratefully, setting the knife down and surveying the little heaps of ingredients strewn across the table. There were a  _lot_  of ingredients.

"These ingredients will keep for about a week. Tomorrow you will accompany me to seek out the last items needed, and we will brew the first potion for Lupin. It is perhaps fortunate that you came when you did. The potion is much like wolfsbane, and must be taken for seven days preceding the full moon. The day after tomorrow will be the first."

"Oh," said Harry, not sure if Snape expected him to say anything or not, but still quite pleased that things were progressing so quickly. "Thank you." The words came out almost shy.

Snape made a dismissive sound. "I expect you here at eight o'clock sharp, Potter. Do not think that because you are paying me you do not have to adhere to common punctuality."

"I was two minutes late!" he protested.

"At least you admit it."

Harry surprised himself and Snape by laughing at this. "You're impossible to please, you know that?"

At this Snape only raised a challenging brow. Harry laughed some more as Snape led him down the passageway and back up the stairs to his sitting room. At the front door, Snape informed him that he was now keyed to the wards and should, when he arrived--'On time, Potter"--let himself in and meet Snape in his workroom. Harry nodded his understanding, and then was off.

  
* * *

Spinner's End looked, if it was possible, even more forlorn in the early morning hours than at mid day or twilight. Harry felt like the only other person in the world as he slowly ambled up to Snape's front steps. Harry hadn't been able to stay sleeping, and when he'd woken up at four--the third time that night--he'd given up the quest for sleep and dressed. He made his breakfast of buttered toast and coffee last as long as he could. After that, not able to think of anything else he could do, he left for Snape's house.

Now he sat on the steps, eyes tracing the cobbled stones of the street winding before him, waiting until it was eight o'clock and he could let himself in. He daydreamed of just opening Snape's doors now, walking into the sitting room and settling into that old armchair, examining Snape's books, watching Snape eat his own breakfast. He refused to think about how weird this thought actually was.

It couldn't have been anywhere near eight when the door swung open and Snape, clad again in Muggle trousers and a white shirt, looked down his nose at Harry sitting on his front porch. "Did I not inform you that you were keyed to the wards?"

"Good morning," Harry bleared up at him, sleepiness making his manner easier somehow. "I wasn't sure I could just let myself in before the appointed time. Didn't want to impose."

"Hm," was all Snape said in response. "Come along."

Harry picked himself up and followed Snape into the house. "You're up early. What time is it?"

"Half past six. You've been here for over an hour." Harry supposed Snape's wards  _would_  inform him of someone sitting on his front porch. Snape looked back at him. "Have you eaten?"

"Just coffee and toast," Harry answered.

They had arrived in the sitting room and were crossing the room into what appeared to be the kitchen. It was a small space, with the stove, sink and a tiny counter lining one wall, a refrigerator up against the adjacent wall, and a small square dining table that was clearly meant to seat one. There were two chairs, though, and Snape ordered Harry into one of them.

"It's weird, you with a refrigerator."

"This is a Muggle neighborhood, Potter. It comes with the territory. Bacon with your eggs?"

"Yes, please." Harry watched as Snape took four eggs out of the refrigerator along with a plastic-wrapped packet of bacon that looked like it had come from a supermarket. It probably had. The world had just gotten a little stranger.

Soon the sweet smell of sizzling bacon was filling the entire kitchen and making Harry's mouth water. Snape set a plate in front of Harry and slid three large strips onto it, still slightly sizzling and covered in buttery fat. Next came the eggs, which Snape scrambled in the left-over bacon fat. It was probably the unhealthiest breakfast Harry had beheld in a while.

He waited until Snape had filled his own plate and settled into the seat across from him, and dug into the food with great gusto. Despite the (albeit small) breakfast he'd already had, he finished this one fairly quickly.

Snape was not quite so voracious. He ate slowly, using his fork and knife to cut the bacon into pieces, chewing carefully. Harry didn't know he was watching Snape intently until Snape's mouth twisted into a smirk and he asked, in a mockingly displeased voice, "Stare much, Potter?"

"Um, sorry. I was just thinking I've never really seen you eat before."

"Yes," said Snape, something like amusement showing in his eyes now, "I suppose you had better things to pay attention to all those mornings in the Great Hall during your years at Hogwarts."

Harry made a face. "Yeah, I really did." But nothing was distracting his attention now and this was different. Snape had never been this close, sitting beside him, eating a breakfast that he'd made himself for  _them_. Harry chuckled, remembering that he'd thought about watching Snape eat breakfast only an hour or two ago--now he actually was!

"Something amusing you, Potter? Care to share?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing. I was wondering when I was waiting on your porch what it would be like to watch you having breakfast." Yes, it was definitely a weird thought, now that he'd said it aloud.

"Up to your expectations?"

Harry grinned. "Even better than."

"Impertinent brat."

It was only a quarter past seven o'clock when they finished breakfast, and Snape informed Harry that he was not going to be forced to work before eight, and then asked him if he preferred to apparate back for luncheon, or bring a basket lunch.

Slightly startled by the idea of having a basket lunch with Snape, Harry nevertheless chose the second option. Snape then set Harry about the task of spreading cream cheese on slabs of bread while he himself sliced thin, transparent pieces of cucumbers for sandwiches. When they had finished making the sandwiches and had stowed them away in the basket, along with two flasks of what looked to be lemonade, Snape handed the basket to Harry. He fetched another large basket--for the ingredients, he explained--and commanded Harry to hang onto the lunch basket tightly.

"I will be apparating with you," he said. "Do not squirm or move."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I have apparated with someone before, you know."

"My apologies," said Snape, archly. Without further conversation, he placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, and Harry's world turned upside down.

  
* * *

"How do you do that? Arch your eyebrow without moving any other part of your face?" Harry asked a bit breathlessly when they arrived at their destination.

"Practice. You would never be able to achieve it."

Harry laughed. "I wouldn't try to." He looked around him. "This is...nice." They were standing a field of flowers.

"Asphodel," Snape said, his voice suddenly graver. Harry glanced back at him. He had reached out to touch one of the flowers that bloomed on long green stems. There were several of them clustered on the stem; they were long-petaled and elegant, with thin brownish-purple streaks at the center of each petal. "Also used in the Draught of Living Death." Snape rubbed a thumb over one petal. "Beautiful."

Asphodel. It sounded familiar. Harry remembered that Snape had quizzed him on this flower before, once in first year. It seemed such a long time ago.

"We're gathering these?"

Snape seemed to snap out of whatever thought he'd been having. "Among other things, yes. Toward the edge of that forest, there," he pointed, "there are other ingredients for us to gather. We will save the asphodel for last."

They spent several hours searching for ingredients. Snape set Harry to search for those ingredients with which Harry was familiar with, such as burdoc root and motherwort. By mid-day, Harry's trousers were brown with mud and dirt from kneeling on the ground, digging out roots and plants. He saw when he passed Snape that the potions master's appearance was immaculate as usual.

Eventually Snape stopped him for lunch. They sat on a clean patch of grass overlooking the field of asphodels and ate the cucumber sandwiches in silence. At least until Harry attempted to make conversation.

"You're different. More relaxed somehow."

Snape gave him a sidelong glance but said nothing.

Harry continued. "I didn't think you could ever go along with a joke, or prepare lunch for anybody, or well--look at me without making some sort of face."

"I don't 'go along' with your jokes, Potter. This is mere delusion."

Harry smiled. "Not denying anything else?"

Snape took a bite from his sandwich and chewed. He said when he was finished: "Everything else rings of the truth. Surprisingly enough, the Dark Lord's death has made my life somewhat easier. And I did prepare your lunch." He paused, an almost-smile ghosting his lips. "Also, it would be tiresome to 'make some sort of face' every time I see you since you are now so often around. Rest assured I am doing so mentally."

Harry chuckled. That was definitely a joke, whatever Snape said.

They finished their lunch promptly and went back to gathering. In a couple of hours they had gathered everything Snape needed aside from the asphodels.

"Asphodel," Harry said when they were in the midst of the field, snipping flowers off their stems with the tiny scissors Snape had brought for that purpose, "It's a lily, isn't it?"

Snape was silent for a moment, his hands frozen in the act of snipping yet another flower. "It belongs to the  _liliaceae_  family, yes. I believe you were taught this in herbology."

Harry shook his head once. "No, no. I looked it up after that time you asked me. I remembered the--the lily bit."

Snape made a small sound, and Harry couldn't tell what kind of emotion it was meant to convey. The man's face had gone remarkably blank.

"Can you tell me about her? About my mum?

Snape didn't answer straight away. when he did, his words were said through gritted teeth. "What else is there to tell, Potter? Haven't you already been in my memories? Wasn't that enough?"

"They were only a glimpse of the time you must have spent with her!" Harry protested. "And there are things you must have known about her, things that were not in your memories." He stopped; his voice was starting to crack and he could feel the tickling at his throat that signaled oncoming tears. He held them back with some effort, swallowed, and began again. "You were her friend. You must have shared things th-"

"And you think that just because you ask it of me I would surrender even more of my memories to you, Potter?" Snape's face was anything but blank now; he looked enraged-and anguished. "Haven't I already given you everything? My entire  _life_ , Potter. Everything to repent, and yet you want more." He gave a harsh laugh. "Of course you want more."

He glared at Harry, stalking over to him and yanking the basket that he held out of his grip. "Well you can't have it." He disapparated away.

Harry stared at the blank space in front of him where Snape had just been standing. Only Snape had just-run away from him. It would have been funny if it didn't make him so cursed angry.

  
* * *

As Harry was pretty sure apparating back to Snape's house and taking advantage of the disengaged wards would certainly earn him a hex or two, Harry went home instead.

His owl, perched on the windowsill in his bedroom, hooted a greeting and fluttered over to the letters which lay on his desk. Harry looked them over, doing his utmost to clamp down on the anger that threatened to have him throwing his flat into a mess. Already the furniture was rumbling ominously. One was from Hermione, who inquired after the progress of the potion seeking, and wanted to know if he'd like to come over for dinner. There were several bills which Harry set aside to pay, and then that familiar envelope with the Quidditch League's logo on top. It had been years since Harry'd played anything resembling competitive Quidditch; he couldn't understand why they didn't just give up.

The last item was a postcard from Ginny. Harry read the message twice, smiling.

_Harry,_

_Bulgaria is bloody cold this time of year, but I'm having fun-the last two games were very exciting. You would have loved it!_

 _

Hope you're taking care of yourself.

_

_Love,  
Ginny._

It was a warm message, more carefree and natural by far than the first few postcards he'd received. Harry was glad of it. Ginny would always be someone dear to him, but she had moved on with her life and he supposed he had moved on with his, too.

Harry wasn't the only person amongst his acquaintances that had been offered a spot on a Quidditch team. The offer was made to Ginny as soon as she finished her seventh year. Ron had been ecstatic and more than a little jealous to have his little sister playing for the Chudley Cannons, and Harry had been so happy for Ginny. They tried to make their relationship work that first year, but it had been too much of a strain. Harry could see how guilty Ginny felt about wanting to stay on with the team for holiday festivities, or forgetting to write after a particularly grueling practice session. He had tried to ignore it because he loved her and still  _wanted_  her. But it hadn't worked in the end.

It was the summer of her second year with the Cannons, on the eve of her departure for the season. They were holding hands, and Harry was feeling warm and content-and just a little awkward. They'd only had one week to spend together and now she was leaving again. He loved her, but he hardly knew her now.

"Harry," she'd said, something caught in her voice, "Harry, I don't know if this is going to work."  
  
Harry had sighed, melancholy fast giving way to relief. "I know. It's been difficult, hasn't it?"

She nodded. "Yes, for both of us. I-I don't know how to explain, but we can't continue this way, you know we can't."

He squeezed her hand. "Ginny, you deserve to have your own life, at the pace you want, where you want it. It's all right."

She looked up at him, brown eyes misty. "I've always loved you, you know. And I might still love you when it's all over. But we can't make promises like that, can we?"

"No, we can't," he said, brushing away the tiny tear that rolled down her cheek. He drew her close, hugged her to his chest. "But we can still love each other, don't think we can't. We're friends, right?"

She laughed into his shirt, and hugged him tighter. "Of course. That's something that will never change."

Harry bent his head and kissed her hair. "I'm glad."

Ginny had been back to visit several times now, and though they still spent time together and things were easy between them, somewhere along the way they'd lost that spark that had struck them in sixth year. Harry found that he was okay with that, and evidently Ginny was as well. He really was glad for her.

  
* * *

Hermione was already setting the table by the time Harry flooed in.

"Sorry," he said, giving her a sheepish smile, "I didn't have time to reply but I thought I'd show up anyway."

It wasn't quite true. He'd had plenty of time to reply, but had chosen to spend some of that time worrying about whether or not Snape would let him in tomorrow morning, keyed wards or no. Once he'd calmed down, the more he thought about it, the more he had to admit to himself that he'd been just a tad out of line. Snape really didn't owe him anything, and Harry had no rights to his private memories, even if they did involve his mother.

They settled into dinner. Hermione had made pot roast and creamed potatoes to go with, and it was a delicious meal. Ron had been amazed when they'd first moved out together and Hermione had approached cooking the same way she had approached everything else. "It is a bit annoying that she has to excel at everything," he confided in Harry on afternoon, "but I still kind of like it about her, 'y know?" Harry had to agree.

"So how are things going with this potions master?" asked Ron. "You were with him yesterday, right?"

"Yeah, Harry, what is he like?"

Harry told them about Snape's workroom and what Snape had him doing, even the little facts Snape recited to him from time to time, all without revealing any details that would lead them to the identity of the potions master. He had already explained that this particular acquaintance of Mcgonnagal's was not eager to let his identity be known.

It made Harry unneasy to lie to Ron and Hermione, whom he had always trusted with all his secrets. Hermione had been the first person he'd gone to when things went south with Ginny. This, however, was not his secret to tell.

"Tomorrow is the seventh day preceding the full moon," Harry said, offering another bit of information instead. "If we can finish the first potion, Remus can take it tomorrow night. The potions master said it might take another three or four rounds of treatment for it to stick, but it's still something."

Hermione reached over and took Harry's hand, squeezing. "I'm sure this is just want Lupin needs. I'm glad we were able to find a way."

Harry felt a little better about how his day had been going just to have his best friends here at last, supporting him. And finding out that Snape was still alive was a good thing, despite what disagreement they'd had. He smiled. "I'm glad too."

  
"I'm sorry for pushing you," Harry said preemptively when Snape opened the door for him. He had been nervously reciting a number of lines in his head for the past two hours, but that was the only one that came out when he opened his mouth.

Snape stared down at him, expressionless, for what seemed like a full minute. Then he scowled. "Didn't I tell you to let yourself in, Potter?"

Relief flooded Harry. "I'm early again. I didn't want to disturb your sleep."

"I wake at dawn. You would not be disturbing me any more than usual." Harry followed him into the house and onwards to the kitchen, where Snape had already set out two plates for breakfast.

"Do you. Um. Want some help with that?" He nodded at the eggs and bacon on the counter.

Snape didn't even pause to consider. "No."

"...Okay."

They ate breakfast in silence, in a much more somber mood than the last time. Harry, despite not having had breakfast yet, had to force himself to swallow his food down. His appetite just couldn't survive the oppressing mood.

Once they were done with breakfast--and Snape had refused Harry's offer to wash the dishes--they went into Snape's workroom. Harry was made to de-stem and crush more ingredients. He busied himself with this for a couple of hours. He also kept himself busy obsessing over how unfair Snape was being about all this. Harry had _apologized_  to him even when he wasn't sure he was wrong to ask about his own mother, and Snape had just ignored him.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by Snape's low voice, too close behind him. "I told you to slice those leaves, not crush them into a pulp, Potter." Harry's hand slipped; a sharp pain flared on his finger.

"Shit." He dropped the knife.

Before he realized what was happening, Snape was already seizing his hand in an iron grip, fingers applying strong and steady pressure to Harry's cut. "Stupid boy!" said Snape, glaring down at him. "Can't pay attention to two things at once, can you?" He drew his wand from the sleeve of his robes with one hand and aimed it at the offending cut, muttering a soft healing spell. Harry felt a lick of pain as skin and tissue knitted back together. His finger was cool and tingly a few seconds later. He looked down. No sign of the cut, not even the faintest scar.

"Wow. Thanks," Harry smiled at him. Snape didn't look stiff or angry or blank anymore. He looked a little annoyed at Harry, but that seemed to be his normal expression and so did not worry Harry very much.

Snape released his hand. "No need to thank me, Potter. Just slice the leaves properly next time."

  
* * *

"It's not blue," was the first thing Remus Lupin said when he saw the potion that Snape had brewed. The potion was a murky non-color that seemed to shift from grey to brown to green and back again, depending on which angle one looked at it from. The smoke that came off of it was green, not the blue that wolfsbane usually was.

Lupin swallowed it with a grimace. "It's just as foul-tasting as the original," he informed Harry.

Harry took the flask back from him. "Do you feel any different?"

A weak laugh from Lupin. "I believe it's probably too soon to tell."

The spasms, ironically, started as soon as he finished the sentence.

  
* * *

Harry plopped gracelessly onto his bed and closed his eyes, his head throbbing with a headache that had started somewhere in the middle of the whole mess at the hospital and hadn't gone away. Apparently the potion that was to cure Lupin also elicited bone-aching pain, made him vomit blood, and caused him to thrash and spasm uncontrollably. It took Harry and two very well-built nurses to restrain and sedate Lupin.

He had apparated straight to Snape's house in his panic, and had met with such calm disdain from him ("What did you expect? Kittens and roses, Potter?") that it drove him a little crazy. They had had a rather one-sided screaming match which ended with Snape ejecting Harry from his house and informing him that if Harry was going to be the ungrateful child Snape always thought he was, he need not come back.

It had not been a good night. Harry admitted to himself now that he  _had_  cooled down it was clear he'd overreacted. Snape never promised that the cure would be easy-indeed, none of them knew how Remus would react to the potion. Harry had tried hard not to think past the point of Remus  _getting_  the cure. He'd been too worried that Remus would die. When Remus had his little episode it had been clear that the cure that could stave off death could also become the cause of it. It had been frustrating.

Harry rubbed his head, massaging, hoping the gods would take mercy on him and take the ache away. He couldn't get Snape's icy glare as he shut the door in Harry's face out of his mind.

"I suppose I deserve it," he muttered.

  
* * *

Despite his acerbity the previous night, Snape's wards, when Harry tested them, were non-hostile. Harry let himself, tiptoed to the kitchen, and set the box of donuts he'd bought onto the table. He cocked his head and listened for signs of Snape, but nothing stirred the early morning silence aside from the far-off chittering of birds outside.

By the time Snape walked into the kitchen, Harry had found the tea tins and the kettle, and had brewed a (hopefully not too strong) kettle of tea to accompany their donuts. He stood by the stove, hands gripping the counter and staring apprehensively at Snape.

"A peace offering, Potter?" Snape said gruffly, eying the half-open box of donuts placidly.

"Yes. Will you accept?"

Snape was sitting down. He reached into the box and picked up a lightly frosted donut. "Don't be an idiot." He bit into the donut, then took a sip from the tea mug Harry handed to him and recoiled. "Ah. Rather, it's a retaliation."

Harry smiled sheepishly and sat down, setting his own cup onto the table, tea untouched. He grabbed a donut for himself. "I thought you'd be down here sooner. It sat too long, 's all."

Snape took a neat last bite of his donut. "If you expect me to surrender what little free time I have to your whims, you will be sorely disappointed."

Harry groaned. "I brought you breakfast because you've fed me at least twice, now. I'm not apologizing because the tea is too strong."

Snape smirked and took another donut from the box. "It was also cold."

  
* * *

Things settled into a routine. Harry woke at some ungodly hour of the morning, stayed in bed, or at least in his house, until a more appropriate hour, then dressed and left for Snape's. Sometimes he would stop to pick up donuts, or scones, or some other breakfast item to bring to Snape's. If he didn't, Snape would take out the frying pan and they would have eggs and toast and whatever else Snape had on hand.

Occasionally Snape would leave to run errands before their work day officially began, and Harry would be left in the house alone. Harry made batches of tea which Snape sneered at but always drank, took cat naps on the sofa in the living room, or sat in Snape's armchair and flipped through his books. These turned out not to be all potions, or even magic books. Snape, Harry discovered, had a penchant for Muggle mystery novels.

They worked worked from morning till late afternoon, stopping for about an hour at noon everyday for lunch. Harry found himself looking forward to the lunches. By the time twelve o'clock rolled around his hands were invariably aching from cutting and grinding ingredients all day and he welcomed the chance to sit in the kitchen and watch Snape cooking up a meal for them, his tall, thin figure dressed all in funereal colors, so at odds with the rest of the brightly lit kitchen.

Every once in a while, as he cooked or ate his meal, Snape would fling a sarcastic or caustic remark Harry's way, and Harry would reciprocate, or laugh, or tell Snape he was a bastard.

Harry was a little disturbed when he realized that he looked forward to the verbal sparring just as much as he did the lunch itself.

  
* * *

He still had nightmares in which Bellatrix Lestrange killed Remus over and over again; or in which he had to watch as the Malfoys tortured Hermione, made her scream and cry and beg. He still woke up in a sweat, sometimes, screaming silently for them to stop.

But more and more his nightmares were interrupted by Snape, who just seemed to appear out of thin air at random and bid Harry to follow him. Harry always did, and then they were in that playground again, sitting on the swings with a field of lilies swaying in the wind around them.

  
* * *

"I think I'm going mad," Harry mumbled to himself one evening at Ron's house as he thought about the day he'd had with Snape. His alcohol-laced conciousness recognized that he had said this out loud and that Ron was now asking him what he meant.

Snape's smirking face floated in his mind. "Nothing. M' just a little drunk."

Ron patted his shoulder comfortingly, and refilled their glasses. "Don't worry, Harry," he whispered, "it's just the alcohol talking. You're not hearing voices!"

Harry took the glass and had a healthy gulp. Fire burned down his throat. "No, no. Not hearing voices," he agreed. "Seeing faces. That's all."  _Snape's_  stupid face. Although Snape hadn't been  _stupid_  for a while now. He was actually-"Quite brilliant. Really bloody brilliant."

"What?" Ron seemed very interested in this brilliant whatever-it-was that Harry was talking about.

"Snape. He's actually really-" He was going to repeat himself, going to say brilliant,  _really bloody brilliant_ -but he threw up instead.

  
* * *

"Moderation has never been a strong suit, has it, Potter?" Snape asked the next morning. He frowned distastefully as Harry attempted to gulp down the sobering  _and scalding hot_  tea before it had a chance to cool. "For Merlin's sake, be still!" Harry's mug was taken away. Hazily Harry realized that a little flask had replaced it in his hand. It was a milky green color.

"Drink that," ordered Snape.

Harry drank. And felt instantly better. "Oh. Oh wow."

"Quite. You owe me, Potter. That potion is vicious to brew, and I was saving it for myself."

Harry gaped. "You get hangovers? Wait-you get  _drunk_?"

"Do. Not. Be. Moronic."

Harry laughed. "Drunk Snape! Once this is all over with, I'm bringing some firewhiskey here."

"What makes you think 'once this is all over with' I will even let you inside, Potter?"

This made Harry's mind stumble a bit, but he caught himself. "Firewhiskey, Snape, firewhiskey."

"Dumbledore would be pleased to know that his star pupil turned out so well-a drunk at twenty-three."

"Twenty- _two_."

"I stand corrected."

  
* * *

"We are running out of asphodel leaves," Snape said quietly one day as Harry washed his hands. "We will need to gather more tomorrow."  
  
Despite the small spike of apprehension that he felt at the thought of what had happened last time, Harry nodded, a little excited. He had liked the asphodel field. "Um. Do you need me to bring anything?"

"No." Snape was not looking at him.  
  
"Okay."

Did he imagine the small scowl on Snape's face before he turned away?

  
* * *

  
The asphodel field hadn't changed. Even considering what had transpired here before, Harry felt instantly relaxed among the grass and flowers swaying gently in the breeze. He thought he could see a couple of small white butterflies fluttering about. Even Snape seemed a bit softer, as if the peaceful setting had blurred some of his hard edges.

"Don't dawdle, Potter," softer Snape told him, slightly glaring as he strolled past Harry. "I would like to have this done with  _before_  noon. I have other plans for the rest of the day." Snape had informed him when they ate breakfast that they wouldn't need as much as they had collected last time, since he still had plenty of the other ingredients. He hadn't packed a picnic for them. Harry hadn't known whether to be relieved or disappointed.

It was different this time. They weren't off in their own directions gathering different ingredients; Snape was constantly nearby, robes rustling right beside him, so close Harry could smell him. Harry could hear each little snip Snape's scissors made on the flower stems.

"Are you not going to ask me about your mother this time, Potter?" Snape's voice was low and quiet, so that Harry had to stop and  _think_  for a minute, make sure he had heard him right.

There was something strange going on in his chest. The muscles felt tight there, almost but not quite to the point of discomfort. He opened his mouth to let some air in to see if it would help. It didn't. "Are you going to get angry and run away again?" He said it in a rush, somewhat breathlessly, and cringed inwardly immediately after.

Snape didn't answer for a length of time. Harry continued to snip flowers rather blindly. After another five minutes of unabated silence, Harry turned around to look at him. He was just standing there in the middle of all those flowers, staring down at the one he held in his hand. He looked wistful.

When he noticed Harry watching him, he looked up. "What would you like to know?"

He was still holding the flower in the palm of his hand. Harry went over and reached for it. Snape didn't draw his hand back, just held still as Harry took it from him. The petals were soft and delicate; Harry smoothed over one petal with his fingers. "What was--what was her favorite food? Her favorite subject in school? Her favorite color? What kind of jokes did she find funny? What did she think of my grandparents? Or the professors at school? Did she have any pets? What did she like to do in her spare time?" He had to stop to catch his breath again.

Snape still looked a little sad, but now he raised his eyebrow. "Is that all, Potter?"

Harry smiled shyly. "Um. Sorry. It's just I don't know anything about her. I always had Remus and Sirius and even Hagrid to tell me about my dad, but mum--well, there was Aunt Petunia." His wry voice said it all. The quirk in Snape's mouth indicated that he understood.

"She was always an odious girl. And Lily's favorite color was blue."

He spent the rest of the morning answering Harry's questions, one at a time.

  
* * *

Time flew by more quickly than Harry expected. Before he realized it summer had turned into fall, with winter beginning to creep in. Remus's condition steadily improved, to the point where he ceased to have any incidents outside of the full moon at all. Even his reactions to the potion were milder; Snape explained that as the wolf grew weaker, its will to fight against the potion--and thus against Remus--dwindled as well.

Harry's dreams, though they still surfaced from time to time, had also stopped plaguing him as much as they did. He credited it to the fact that a day working with Snape usually left him too tired to have nightmares. When they did occur, Snape still appeared, to lead him away from it all.

He shivered now as he put the kettle onto the stove for tea. Snape's poorly insulated kitchen got colder as the days passed. The heater worked just fine for the sitting room, but it was too small to reach all the way to the kitchen.

"Do you need a warming charm, Potter?"

Harry was about to shake his head, but Snape had already cast one. He leaned back against his chair and took a bite out of his pastry, feeling suddenly warm and toasty. "Um. Thanks. You want the last one?" He gestured at the danish on the plate in front of them.

Snape picked it up but didn't eat it. "Tomorrow is the full moon. Judging by Lupin's progress, I do not think he will need another dose after this round."

Harry swallowed the piece of pastry in his mouth too soon; it scratched at his throat as it went down. "Oh. That's--that's good." It was also so sudden So--so soon.

"Yes. Prepare to be set free, Potter. You'll no longer have to spend your days here."

It was odd, but Harry found that he couldn't for the life of him think of a response to Snape's remark.

  
* * *

Snape handed him the potion at the door, making sure Harry had a firm grip on it before he let go completely. They stood staring at one another for a little too long. Harry swallowed, but the lump in his throat that had appeared at breakfast-time and hadn't gone away since was still there. It did not want to budge.

"Thank you for, um. Everything. Remus. And all those questions about my mum. I--You're really not as much of a git as I thought you were."

"Your compliments warm my heart," Snape answered in a dry voice, but Harry could tell he was pleased because he always looked vexed when he was pleased.

Harry chuckled. "Right. I had better go deliver this." He hesitated, then turned his back on Snape and stepped over the threshold. He bit his lip. "Goodbye, Snape."

"You may pick up Lupin's regular wolfsbane potions in three weeks. Goodbye, Potter."

The lump in Harry's throat disappeared. "Right--of course. Regular wolfsbane potion." He kept his head turned so Snape couldn't see the huge, inexplicable,  _ridiculous_  smile that was on his face. "See you in three weeks."

  
* * *

"So how are things going?" Ron asked, taking a swift swig of his butterbeer. He was babysitting later tonight, and 'Hermione would  _kill_  me if I had any alcohol while being dad.'

Harry shrugged. It had been--all right, he supposed. His days were freer than they'd been in a number of months now that he was no longer Snape's indentured servant. He spent them catching up on Quidditch news, visiting with Remus and sometimes Teddy, and reading a  _lot_  of Muggle mystery novels. "They're good. I visited Remus yesterday and he looked really well. No sign of werewolf mayhem to come any time soon."

This was true. The full moon wasn't for another two weeks. Harry had been slowly counting down the days. Because he was so concerned for Remus, of course.

Ron set his butterbeer down and glanced somewhat shiftily at Harry. "Something happen with your, ah, friend?"

Harry looked up. "What? What friend?"

His best friend was now staring uneasily at him. "Well, Hermione and I thought you've been dating someone. I mean, I know it's none of our business, but--"

"What--What gave you  _that_  impression?" Harry asked, confused. "I've been busy with Remus's potions for months now, and I never go out anywhere, and--" It was absurd.

Ron put on a very serious, very sincere face. "Harry, it's all right. You don't have to hide it from me. Ginny--she'd be happy for you. I didn't want to tell you because you were so down about Lupin, but she's been dating people."

"Well, that's good. I'm glad she's moved on. I figured she would. But Ron, you still haven't told me what made you think that  _I'm_  dating." Because he really wasn't. There wasn't even anyone he was remotely  _interested_  in.

"You've been happier lately. Smiling more. And Hermione tells me you keep asking her where to find good pastries."

"Those are for the guy who brews Remus's potions!" Harry protested.

There was a pregnant pause. "Well, I wasn't going to say anything, but Harry...you know you're my best friend, right? If you want to be with a guy, I completely--"

"Ron," Harry interrupted very firmly. "Thank you. But I'm not--I'm not dating anyone, honestly. It's just been nice to have something to do, you know?"

Ron looked unconvinced, but he nodded. "Ever since Voldemort's defeat you have been kind of unmotivated. Hermione and I both thought this thing with Remus was--well, good for you. Kept you busy and involved in things"

Harry hadn't known Ron's thoughts on his lifestyle since the war, and although it made him uncomfortable to realize that Ron was right, it also touched him that Ron had been worrying about him for all this time.

"You really are the best friend a man can have, Ron." He clapped Ron on the back.

Ron grinned. "I am, aren't I?"

  
* * *

"I brought donuts." Harry managed a smile, though he felt awkward standing at Snape's door, holding the cardboard box of donuts. He'd been at home here just a few weeks ago, but now he felt out of place, like a door-to-door salesman making a pitch.

Snape didn't reply, just stepped back to let Harry in. The potion was already on the table in the sitting room. The box of donuts seemed to weigh more than they did before. He'd meant for them to have the donuts together, like they had so many times before, but maybe Snape just wanted him to pick up the potion and leave.

But Snape turned directly into the kitchen and pulled out a chair for himself. "You may make the tea, Potter, " he told Harry, as if he were somehow bestowing a favour upon Harry by letting him make tea. Harry grinned and walked to the stove.

"So...what have you been doing for the past three weeks?" asked Harry. He spooned the loose tea leaves into Snape's misshapen tea infuser.

Snape set out two porcelain plates, one for him and one for Harry. "Dabbling in a bit of cunning espionage,  
he said in a conversational tone, "torturing Muggles. And," and now he leveled a wry look at Harry, "making potions."

Right. That was what Snape did for a living, after all. Harry sat down at the table and waited for the tea to boil. "I've been reading. Sherlock Holmes. Have you...?"  
  
Snape rolled his eyes. "I did grow up in a Muggle household, Potter. I have the complete leather-bound Conan Doyle on the fourth shelf in the sitting room." He seemed rather proud of this. Harry found it oddly endearing.

They sat there for a while, eating donuts, drinking tea and talking. Harry told Snape which stories he enjoyed most from the Sherlock Holmes collection, and Snape made snarky, unveiled comments on Harry's intellect, and it was so easy to  _like_  Snape and want to be  _with_  him.

And Harry realized suddenly that he  _had_  liked Snape. For a while now. Tremendously liked him. Liked that he  _almost_  smiled at Harry's jokes when he thought Harry wasn't paying attention; that he tossed his eggs with a little flourish when he made breakfast; that he still called Harry 'Potter' no matter how many times Harry said it was fine to call him by his given name. Liked him even when he was being a git and saying horrible things. Liked him even though he had a giant nose and yellow teeth and, more often than not, dirty fingernails.

Shit.

He slammed his tea mug onto the table and stood abruptly. "I. I have to go now Somewhere to be. Um. Thanks for the tea. And the potion."

Snape just nodded, a bit perplexed but still completely calm, because he didn't know what Harry was thinking, of  _course_  he didn't know, and Harry was  _blushing_  now. "Until tomorrow, Potter." A sarcastic note in his voice. Harry wished he didn't speak like that all the time, it was so hard to figure out what he was thinking.

"Yes, tomorrow," Harry answered, really not knowing how he was going to face Snape tomorrow. He accepted the potion Snape handed him and managed a small smile. "Goodbye." He apparated away.

  
* * *

Sleep did not come easy.  _'Until tomorrow'_  in Snape's low, velvety voice kept re-surfacing in his mind. The thought of seeing Snape simultaneously warmed and alarmed him. He stayed up for hours longer than he wanted to, thinking about what it meant that Snape made him nervous and excited, frustrated and happy, all at the same time. How had he not realized that he was slowly going mad?

"But I did realize it," he whispered, thinking back to that drinking night with Ron. What had he said? ' _Really bloody brilliant.'_  Yes, he had used that phrase to describe Snape in a drunken fit of fancy.

Yes, really bloody brilliant.

Harry sighed and buried his face into the pillow. He was so fucked.

  
* * *

He knew this had to be a dream. Snape was so close Harry could see the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, could see the very faint hint of brown in his otherwise black irises. And Snape was touching him.

It was just a light touch on Harry's arm, but it made Harry's skin prickle. Snape had never really  _touched_  him before--Snape just didn't touch. But Snape was touching him now, palm pressing into his shoulder so he could feel just a bit of nail.

And Harry was getting hard.

He knew it was a dream but he still couldn't get out of it, couldn't wake himself up--and didn't want to. Snape's fingers traced the line of his collarbone, ghosted over his chest. Harry reached up to grab at him, to touch him too, but somehow he evaded Harry's reach.

"Be still, Potter," he said in his dark voice, so close to Harry's skin. Then his other hand slipped under the waistband of Harry's pants.

Harry gasped, pushing himself up in bed. The room felt too hot, and there was an uncomfortable wetness under his sheets. Snape was nowhere to be found. He rubbed his eyes. This was so  _stupid_. Harry was not having wet dreams about his old Potions professor. Not at his age.

But ruined sheets did not lie. He abandoned sleep and got up to wash his pajama bottoms.

  
* * *

"What if. What if I were dating someone?"

Ron blinked over at Harry. He set down his drink, smiling a little. "Are you?"

"No." The thought of  _dating_  and  _Snape_  just seemed so--strange. Like the two concepts weren't supposed to exist in the same world. Harry didn't think Snape had dated even when he was younger.

"But you want to?"

Harry swallowed. Nodded. Felt himself go a little red with embarrassment.

"It's the potions guy, isn't it?" Ron wasn't meeting his eyes; he looked as embarrassed as Harry felt.

Harry stared down at his drink, clear amber liquid making him somewhat braver just looking at it. He drank a mouthful of it before answering. "Yes." A glance over at Ron, who seemed to have already decided for himself. "Is that strange?"

Ron took a swig of his drink. "A little," he admitted. "But if it makes you happy it doesn't really matter. Um. Does he like you back?"

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. "No. I don't know. Probably not? The last person he--he liked was female." He was not going to be jealous of his mum.

"Oh. Well." Ron clapped him on the back in an encouraging manner. "You can't know until you try, right?"

Harry looked at him. "Do you think I should try?"

"That's up to you. Is it worth trying for you?"

That was something he just didn't know.

  
* * *

He spent the next six days in a state of turmoil. His mornings were taken up by the short visits with Snape. They lasted too long and weren't long enough; he didn't want to leave when he was there, but eventually he had to because he would start staring at the wrinkles at Snape's eyes and thinking things such as ' _those wrinkles make him look so distinguished.'_

He visited with Remus after Snape, staying for as long as he felt he was able to impose. Remus was looking so much better now. He insisted on paying Harry back for the potions, and instead of refusing Harry secretly set up a savings fund for Teddy.

After the third round of sheets ruined by dreams of Snape, he gave up his pretensions of control. The next night he settled into bed and touched himself, thinking of Snape's yellow-stained fingers touching him all over. He slept peacefully that night and didn't dream.

"Would you like to have dinner with me?" Harry asked on the seventh morning. He had finished his tea and all of his eggs were gone. He would have to leave soon, and he wouldn't see Snape again for another three weeks. "I, um. I'd like to cook for you for a change. To be fair. You always cook for me."

Snape was surprised, he could tell. Snape frowned when he was surprised. "I assure you it is not necessary. You could always chip in for groceries if it bothers you, Potter."

Harry blinked. "Yeah, I will." It made him happy that Snape expected him to be around enough to chip in for groceries. "But I want to make you dinner too."

Snape looked unconvinced. "I do not like to impose."

Harry exhaled in frustration. "Come on, Snape. It's one dinner. It must be lonely eating by yourself." He said his next words in a softer voice. "I know I get lonely."

Silence. Then: "Very well, brat." One corner of his lips even tugged involuntarily upward, that almost-smile pleased Harry to see. "When would you like me?"

 _'All the time.'_ the thought came unbidden into Harry's mind, making him blush. He could feel his face heating up. "Um. Tomorrow night? How does seven sound for dinner?"

"Acceptable."

Harry laughed--a little too loudly. "Good. Um. Here." He rummaged around his pockets for a piece of paper with his floo coordinates. He'd prepared it in advance when he realized that Snape didn't even know where he lived. It felt a little strange, giving it to Snape now, but Snape didn't comment on it.

"Until tomorrow, then."

Harry smiled. "Tomorrow!"

  
* * *

Snape arrived at exactly seven, as Harry knew he probably would. He stood looking around the room for a while, taking in Harry's furniture, the pictures on the fireplace mantle, and finally, the dinner that Harry had prepared.

He'd started early in the afternoon, sticking to the dishes that he knew he could do well. Now he stood by nervously as Snape walked to the table and examined the food.

"Very appetizing," he said. It didn't  _seem_  sarcastic. Harry beamed a little.

They settled down to dinner. Harry watched as Snape ate (to make sure he was enjoying it, nothing more) and ate his own food only sparingly, so that Snape eventually asked whether he was feeling quite well. Harry assured him that he was in perfect health.

All in all, the evening was a success. Snape liked Harry's cooking, and complimented the furnishings--albeit somewhat grudgingly--and they talked about the new novel Harry had read. Rather, Harry talked and Snape listened, interjecting the occasional comment.

Then came dessert, a decadent chocolate cake laced with drizzles of caramel sauce and surrounded by candied orange slices. Harry had hesitated before he brought it out, thinking that maybe this was too much, and perhaps that was why Snape smirked slowly, and leaned in close, and said, with a glint in his eye: "Chocolate dessert, Potter? Was this a date?"

Harry shouldn't have panicked. He shouldn't have frozen or taken too long to answer. If he had just denied it right away everything would have been fine. Instead, he opened his mouth and no words came out.

And Snape  _knew_. That completely blank look snapped onto his face and he sat back, eyes boring into Harry's. Harry could see the wheels turning in his mind, the puzzle pieces clicking into place. He felt his face grow red.

He must have looked--pathetic, because Snape took pity on him and looked away. "I was not aware--" He stopped abruptly, and did not say more.

Harry was thankful, because he really didn't need to hear from Snape what he hadn't been aware of.

"This wasn't meant. Like that," he managed softly. "I just. I really just wanted to have dinner."

"I see." The silence stretched between them. Snape set down the fork that he had been holding onto for some strange, inexplicable reason. It clinked jarringly against his plate, making Harry cringe.

In the end, it was Snape who broke the silence. "It would not be appropriate." He sounded more gentle than Harry remembered him ever sounding.

Harry nodded. If he weren't so crestfallen he might have laughed. That was an understatement! It would be anything  _but_  appropriate. Except it wasn't going to be anything, apparently. How had he ever thought that it could?

"Um. I think it's best if--if you go now. Sorry." He couldn't even look at Snape without feeling mortified.

"Potter..." He heard Snape standing up and going around the table so that he was standing right by him, and tensed up. Any minute now he was going to do something outrageous, like--like lean back against Snape.

"Please. I can't have you here right now, Snape. I feel ill. Please go."

"Potter, you--"

" _Please_ , Snape!" he exclaimed, panicking. He was really going to  _do something_  and he didn't know what and did not want to find out!

A long, aching silence; he could feel Snape's eyes on his face. Then a sigh. "As you wish." Snape's boots struck the floor soundly as he strolled quickly to the door and exited through it.

Harry let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding in. So. That was that.

  
* * *

He spent the next three weeks trying to forget the dinner with Snape ever happened. It had been clear that the entire thing was a disaster, and now Snape knew. Harry hadn't planned on anything close to a confession when he invited Snape over for dinner; he simply wanted to see more of Snape. It had been a stupid idea.

He tried to move on. He began corresponding with old friends and spent even more time with Teddy, so that Andromeda's entire household came to consider him one of their own. It was nice--he liked Teddy and felt himself responsible for the boy, and Andromeda and Ted were both very sweet people.

He helped out with Rose, too. Hermione and Ron didn't ask why he was suddenly spending so much time at their house. Harry supposed it was obvious, after the conversation he'd had with Ron.

He was on his way to forgetting when the owl from Snape came.

**_'Potions will be ready tomorrow.'_ **

The note was written on a plain white cardstock, the kind Snape used to write out labels for the ingredients he didn't keep in flasks or bottles. There was no signature, just Snape's sharp, spiky handwriting in bold black print.

A small part of Harry was relieved that Snape hadn't said anything about the...the last time they met. Another part of him just felt--sad. A little angry. How could Snape write to him like nothing had happened? No  _'Sorry, Potter, for leaving so abruptly'_  or  _'Would you like to talk about this?'_  or--or anything at all. Not even  _'You're pathetic,'_ which Harry would have accepted.

Harry read the note again, and then again. Maybe if he read it enough times he would suddenly be able to glean some hidden meaning from it--something more than apathy. After a few passes he gave up.

"I need a drink."

  
* * *

He didn't usually frequent Muggle bars. They always seemed seedier than Wizarding ones, no matter where you went, and the alcohol wasn't as good. If he were having drinks with a few friends he would have insisted on a Wizarding establishment; there was no reason to go anywhere else.

But he was alone, and more than a little depressed, and he did not want to run into someone who would recognize him and begin talking at him about the war, or Hogwarts, or ask him what he'd been up to since. He just wanted to drink tonight.

That was what he told the guy who sat down next to him and attempted to make conversation. "I just want to drink tonight, mate."

The guy leaned in, lips quirking in amusement, as if Harry had just said something very charming, and pushed his drink up against Harry's so that the glasses clinked. "So do I. You can still drink with me here, can't you?"

Harry wanted to protest, but his inebriated mind couldn't come up with a reason why he couldn't, not without explaining to the guy that he was  _pining_  and had been _rejected_ , and no--that was just a little too shameful to mention. So Harry graciously accepted the drink that his new acquaintance ordered for him and resolved to spend his night tolerably.

He lost count of how many drinks they had. It had to be a lot, because he had a difficult time standing up to use the restroom. His new friend--whose name Harry thought, ironically, was Guy--stood up to help him, guiding him through the narrow walkway to the restroom.

He slipped inside with Harry, too, and herded him to one of the stalls. It smelled foul in there; Harry had to resist the urge to cast  _scourgify_  on pretty much everything in sight. Why were they in a stall, anyway?

Harry must have said it out loud, because Guy answered him by leaning in close and knocking his hips against Harry's, nudging him against the wall. He was hard, Harry realized. He could feel it against his thigh, and even in his drunken state he suddenly knew what this meant.

Guy's face was so close, warm breath fanning across Harry's skin. He smelled fresh, like maybe he'd taken a mint just a few minutes before this in preparation. It was probably nothing like what kissing Snape would have been, but Harry was frustrated and a little turned on now, and he was  _drunk_. No, this would do.

Their lips met briefly, a testing kiss. Guy pulled back, though his body still pressed pretty firmly against Harry's. "Do you still want to 'just drink' tonight?"  
  
He exhaled, trying to banish Snape's voice and Snape's eyes and even Snape's big nose from his mind. It didn't work. He knocked his head back against the wall in frustration. "No. I don't know. Just. Come here." And they kissed for real.

  
* * *

Harry blinked up at the blurry ceiling and wished he were dead. Or at least very unconscious. His head seemed to believe that he had killed its entire family and it wanted revenge. That was the only explanation for the slow torture it was inflicting upon him.

Going to a bar had been a stupid idea. Almost--but not quite--as stupid as inviting Snape to a romantic dinner for two. Harry vaguely remembered that he had stopped the proceedings before they got beyond kissing with the guy at the bar, and that was a relief. It didn't stop him from feeling a little sick at the thought that his first kiss from a man was with a stranger who he was probably never going to see again.

And then there were the things that happened after. He remembered this even less clearly than he remembered the bar, though he knew it had involved apparating home--luckily un-splinched--and immediately grabbing a quill to write a response to Snape's note.

It bothered Harry that he couldn't recall what he'd written. He remembered bits and pieces, and those were embarrassing enough for him to wish he had a hole somewhere to crawl in. That would require him moving, however, and he was sure he wasn't up to that yet. Not with his skull currently feeling like it was being split in half.

He was still in this state of acute pain and mortification when he felt his wards blown wide open. He attempted to get up, and failed. Fuck. Fine. If it was a burglar they could just take what they wanted. He reached around for his wand. If they meant to harm he would be able to cast a disarming spell, at least.

It wasn't a burglar, as Harry found out when his bedroom door flew open and in the doorway stood Snape, arms crossed over his chest.

Harry thought helplessly that he would much rather it have been the burglar.

He gave Snape a bleary look, squinting so he could see what kind of expression Snape wore without putting on his glasses. He didn't actually know where his glasses were. "Um. Hi." Snape didn't look upset. Not really. Unless that was a scowl.

"Stop squinting, Potter, it will ruin your eyes." Snape walked to him and produced something--out of thin air. He shoved it at Harry's face. It was Harry's glasses. He took them. He wasn't ready to put them on yet but he supposed he had no choice since Snape had retrieved them from the abyss for him.

"Thanks," he said, his voice catching a little. His throat was dry; he'd been in bed all day and hadn't eaten or had anything to drink yet. "Uh. Why are you here?"  _Please please please do not say because of my letter._

"You did not come for the potion," Snape said instead. "It should be delivered to Lupin before the moon rises."

 _Oh, fuck._  Harry felt like an arsehole. It was fine to get drunk and mope around and be miserable because Snape didn't like him. It was not all right to forget about Remus's potion.

Snape saw the look on his face and relented. "It is only a quarter past two. I've left the potion on your kitchen counter. You have a few hours to get it to him." He eyed Harry with distaste. "Although I doubt you would be able, in the state you are. Didn't I tell you to take it in moderation, Potter?"

Harry laughed softly to himself. "I think what you said was moderation isn't my strong suit. I admit it." He winced; it still hurt to move his head too much, and laughing only made it worse.

Snape's face was grim. "I suggest you work on it."

Harry looked up at him, momentarily surprised at how close Snape was, standing right over him at the side of his bed. If he reached up and pulled, Snape might just tumble down on top of him. "You don't get to tell me what to do," he said, suddenly angry that he couldn't just reach up and pull Snape to him.

"Oh?" Snape drew even closer to him, leaning over Harry, getting into his space. Harry felt his heart beating too rapidly and wondered if Snape could hear it too. "This after you wrote that muddled letter, asking me to tell you what you could do to, I quote, 'have you'?" He said this in a conversational tone, as if he were reminding Harry of a tidbit of potions lore he had forgotten.

Oh. He could feel himself flushing to his roots. And also, because Snape was so  _close_  and  _warm_  and speaking in that maddeningly low voice and he had had such a frustrating night, Harry could also feel himself getting hard under the blanket.

But. Snape was talking about the letter. He'd received Harry's letter, had read it all, and was here right now. Harry had thought Snape wouldn't want to have anything to do with him after he read that letter. But Snape was here now, leaning in close to Harry, looking on at Harry in what appeared to be--fond exasperation.

A flicker of hope kindled. His heart beat faster. He opened his mouth, licked his lips slowly. Watched Snape's face as Snape stared down at him. "So," he said quietly, nervously, "What could I do?"

Snape frowned. "What you could do is forget about this...infatuation, and see more of someone your own age, Potter. I am too old for you."

Frustration! "No, you're not! You--"

"Not 'an old, grumpy bastard' who you 'have no business finding even marginally attractive'?" He looked down triumphantly at Harry. "Also from your letter, Potter."

He bit his lip. Hell, he had really written than. Well. "Well, it's true. But you know what? I find you attractive anyway. And I  _have_  seen more of someone my own age,and it hasn't helped, because I was thinking of  _you_  the whole time." He might as say everything he wanted to now, since the entirety of his letter was slowly drifting back to him, and any hope of salvaging his dignity had already been lost.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Oh? Who is this someone that you--saw?"

Harry shook his head. "Just some guy. Not important. He--" Was it just his imagination, or did Snape look a little piqued? With nothing to lose, he tried a different tactic. "We did things I'd never done with a man before, and--"

"Enough." Snape looked down coolly at him. "I do not need to know the details of your dalliance, I thank you." He folded his arms across his chest. "Your letter had me worried that you still harbored some ridiculous notions in your head. Clearly it is on its way to being resolved. I will see you tomorrow for Lupin's potion. Potter. Stop. Do _not--_ "

But Harry was no longer paying attention to Snape, who just wasn't  _listening_. Instead he kept his hold on Snape's robes and tugged harder, so that Snape stumbled half onto the bed, closer to him. Almost directly on top of him, in fact. "We kissed," Harry told Snape's mouth, which was inches away from his now, "we kissed and kissed and he rubbed his dick against my leg and I wished it were you."

Snape flushed visibly, pulling back. Harry held onto him, gripped his robes tight so he couldn't pull free. His head was still hurting, and he felt very unstable, and really, really turned on. And he wasn't going to let go. "Stop. Now." Snape almost spat the words at him. He felt Snape's hot breath on his lips. So close.

"I stopped him. I couldn't go on, because I wanted  _you_." His heart was beating so loudly Snape  _must_  have been able to hear. Harry didn't care. "Wanted your tongue in my mouth, and...and y-your hands touching..." Snape wasn't even trying to escape now. Harry swallowed, cock twitching, so hard he ached. "Want you, Snape," he said, softly, imploringly.

Snape's face twisted into an expression Harry couldn't quite place. "Idiot boy," he whispered, moving closer, lips ghosting over Harry's, "you will regret this." Then he buried his hands in Harry's hair, gripping so tight it hurt, but Harry didn't care,  _didn't care at all_  because they were kissing.

God. Finally.

Snape's kisses were strong, intense, almost-but-not-quite overwhelming, just like his personality. This was nothing at all like the slow, teasing kisses from the guy at the bar. It was as though Snape had taken possession of Harry's mouth and waging war, refusing to surrender ground, forcing Harry back into the bed.

Snape's kisses were, in a nutshell, fucking  _fantastic_. Harry closed his eyes and kissed back, arms thrown around Snape's neck. Somehow in the middle of it all he managed to get Snape all the way onto the bed. Now, just as Harry thought things couldn't get  _any_  better, Snape proved him wrong by shifting on top of him and running one hand firmly along his hip, down to his thigh.

Their kiss broke as Harry arched back into the pillow, shivering a little at the sensation of Snape's hand so close to his crotch. He was so hard it  _hurt_. An involuntary moan escaped him.

Snape glanced swiftly down and then up at Harry again, eyes smoldering. His mouth was still so close to Harry's lips. He planted a small kiss at the corner of Harry's mouth. Then another on his chin. "Tell me, Potter," he asked Harry softly, "how you wanted my hands...touching." If his voice alone didn't drive Harry crazy, those  _words_...

He struggled to find his breath. " _Fuck_. I need it so bad. Just. Touch me." He tugged at Snape's arm, guiding Snape's hand to where he needed him. " _Please_."

"How very prettily you beg, Mr. Potter." The warm hand slipped past the waistband of his pajama bottoms and curled firmly around his prick. Snape stroked him steadily, thumb sliding under the head of Harry's cock, rubbing at that sensitive skin there. Oh. Shit. Harry gasped, hips jerking, unable to stop himself from spilling over Snape's moving hand, pleasure shooting through him.

"Oh, fuck," he said long moments later when he was able to speak at all. "That. That was. Really. Good." He felt too good, even with the persisting headache, to feel even the slightest embarrassment at losing control so soon, though he acknowledged that it would probably come later. He looked over at Snape, and realized-- "Are you...can I do something for you too?" he asked, shyly.

Snape's eyes were closed. "That won't be necessary."

"But. I  _want_  to."

A tiny, rather fierce glare from Snape. "Unless you would like to cast the  _scourgify_  for me, Potter, there is nothing you can do for me."

It took Harry a few seconds to get it, but when he did, he was warm all over. He beamed at Snape. "Oh." He rolled onto his side, watched as Snape shifted uncomfortably on his bed.  _His bed_. "Um. Are you hungry? D'you want food?" He didn't know if his stomach could actually take food right now, but if Snape wanted some...

"No, thank you. What I would like is to use your rest room."

"Right! Um. It's through that door there."

He watched as Snape slid off the bed and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He smiled wide, and searched for his wand. He needed a  _scourgify_  too.

  
* * *

He had wrangled the bed back into neatness by the time Snape emerged from the bathroom, looking fresh and composed and not at all like he'd made out with Harry and then jerked him off in bed. He came up to Harry and frowned down at him in a way Harry didn't quite like. He reached up and touched Snape's hand lightly, trying not to panic. The look Snape gave him was a grave one.

"You may still regret this, boy."

Harry met his eyes, slowly letting his fingers fold over into the fabric of Snape's sleeve, hanging onto him. "Yeah, I might. But I want to do it anyway. I--Did you read my letter all the way through?"

Snape nodded.

"Well. I meant that last thing. I know you don't believe me, but. I meant it."

Snape blinked down at him, and then pulled his hand away.  He threaded warm fingers through Harry's hair, almost like he was petting him. It was a while before he said anything.

"I believe I am fond of you too, Potter."

  
\------the end

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/kudos much appreciated!


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